The Kingdoms of Dodge
by Shellecah
Summary: We defied the men in high places when they gave us an order that would hurt a friend. We were who we were, our own masters, and a drink of spirits with a sound sleep was sufficient to keep a body alive. We fought to protect our own and take care of them. No matter what.
1. Chapter 1

A leaden sky darkened Dodge the morning after the shooting, and when rain driven on a frigid wind confined them to the jailhouse, they tracked time only by Doc's watch, as storm clouds covered the sun. Doc likened the incessant thunder to the distant rumble of artillery, near crack of rifle shots and the crash of exploding cannonballs. "If lightning set the town afire, we'd have a scene out of Gettysburg," said Doc. Paying sick calls since daybreak, he'd stopped at the marshal's office to warm himself by the stove, have a cup of coffee or two and chat with Matt and Chester.

Kitty came to visit a short spell later, and then the storm hit full-blown. She stood at the window and watched rain pellet the deserted street, turning the dirt to muddy rushing runnels. Lightning like a fiery feathered spear struck an empty shed across the road, and the structure flared a moment before rain drenched the flames. "Did you see that, Doc?" said Kitty, looking through the window at the blackened building. "Lightning just torched that storage shack."

Matt, Doc and Chester joined Kitty at the window. "Rain snuffed the fire a'ready," said Chester. As Miss Kitty spoke, a hankering came on him to stand close to her, so he hastened to the window ahead of Mr. Dillon and Doc, and leaned against the wall next to her.

The other three looked expectantly at Chester. Since Matt shot the federal attorney general's investigator on Front Street the day before, what Chester did at the time overshadowed in their thoughts anything he said now. Unlike Miss Kitty's soft concerned gaze, the keen looks of the marshal and Doc stirred an unease in Chester like bellyache, as though he'd done somewhat wrong.

Howsoever, Chester liked Miss Kitty's pretty eyes on him, letting him fancy that warm sun shone through the windows instead of the ashen light of a stormy afternoon. She gazed at him betimes to the Long Branch, her eyes twinkling and a smile playing round her mouth. Such times Chester was content to meet Miss Kitty's eyes and say nothing, her voice pleasing in his ears so he forgot now and then to follow the drift of her words.

Kitty knew Chester would stand looking at her as long as she looked at him. "Since we're stuck here, we may as well do something to amuse ourselves," she said. "Chester, how about a game of beggar-my-neighbor."

"Alright. You set, Miss Kitty, an' I'll fetch the cards an' pour us more coffee."

"Matt, Doc. Play a few games?" said Kitty, as Chester pulled out a chair for her at the table.

"No thanks, Kitty," Matt said soberly.

"No. Not in the mood," said Doc.

Matt sat behind the desk, leaned his chair back against the wall, crossed his legs on the desktop and stared through the window at the rain. Doc pulled a chair close to the stove.

Chester filled Kitty's coffee cup, then Matt's, Doc's, and his own last. "Maybe you kin shuffle the cards there, Miss Kitty, whilst I fix another pot of coffee. Some as dun wanna pass the time with me at cards. Well, I ain't perfect," Chester grumbled.

"Why do you think I opened that door and walked in here, Chester," said Doc. "Not for the coffee, that's sure. I'm not playin' cards with you cuz I don't like beggar-my-neighbor."

"Nobody's forcing the coffee down yer throat, Doc," said Chester.

"Chester, you know I hardly ever play cards," said Matt.

"You two stop pickin' at Chester," Kitty ordered, expertly shuffling the deck. Since he'd rescued her from that lecher investigator, Kitty had no desire to tease Chester and no patience with seeing him troubled, not even by the half-hearted bickering that masked Doc's worry, or Matt's mild objections in his own defense.

Kitty and Chester played their game quietly, not saying much. The thunder faded and the rain sounded almost soothing as it drummed the roof and boardwalk. The office was warm from the stove, the jail door opened to empty cells. Doc snored softly in his chair, while Matt sat immersed in thought.

Beggar-my-neighbor took little concentration. An exercise for Kitty's hands, the game sufficiently alerted her mind to consider the shooting at length, the investigator's death and what led to it. The tension that had plagued Chester since then drained out of him when Kitty kept company with him. She attributed most of his strain to Matt and Doc gravely watching him and listening closely to what he said without voicing their thoughts to him.

No rain had fallen yesterday, though a gray sky and damp chill forecasted the storm to come. Kitty saw Chester at the post, and as he walked with her toward the Long Branch, they saw Investigator Nash approaching.

Attorney General Devens' office in Washington dispatched Nash to observe Matt at work and report back to headquarters, as assaults and gunfights, robberies and murders had besieged Dodge with a furor at harvest time when the trail herds hit town, worsened by a particularly infamous team of drovers from San Antonio, and more buffalo hunters and wolvers than usual for the season.

The last team of drovers left town nearly three months before Nash arrived in early February. The outlaws by then were either imprisoned or dead, and a few escaped.

Kitty did not like Nash, and not because he unfairly censured Matt. She was used to journalists, attorneys and delegates—ignorant, conceited asses—putting themselves forward and trying to tell Matt how to do his job. Matt could take care of himself, and unless those on a mission to hound him harmed someone else, the townsfolk tended to regard these men as mere pests. So long as he wore the badge, the people of Dodge knew Matt Dillon was in charge of the town, its jurisdiction and himself, regardless of any position or connection of anyone who dared to convince him otherwise, and wherever he decided to seize charge beside, if he had to take the badge off for a time to do it.

Kitty disliked Nash for himself. No gentleman, he was imperious, lascivious and a hard drinker. He bedded every woman of the night at the Long Branch, even poor worn-out Sadie, who was only ever propositioned by old or loathsome men. Two of Kitty's girls told her Nash attacked them alone outside in the dark. They begged her not to tell Marshal Dillon, as her patrons would fear to ask for their services if Matt found out and jailed or threatened Nash.

Kitty knew Matt would want to know what Nash was. She revealed the girls' accounts to the marshal and asked Matt to keep the knowledge to himself. He honored her request, and Kitty saw from that moment his disdain for Nash turn to repressed anger.

Although Matt revealed nothing of the matter to his assistant, Chester habitually took Matt's lead when it came to such men, watching the lawman for signs of how to regard Nash. His sensitive feelings attuned to Matt's moods, Chester's characteristic impassivity when faced with an unfamiliar authority ripened to aversion of the investigator.

Kitty's thoughts wandered back to the present, sitting in the warm quiet marshal's office with her men, playing cards with Chester at the table. The danger past, he was safe now and she was too, though concern for him still troubled her, like the faint fetid smell which sometimes hung in the Long Branch even after Sam scrubbed everything clean.

Thanks to Matt, Nash was dead, his body at the marshal's order shipped in respectful trappings to his family in Virginia, though Kitty and Doc agreed the investigator deserved a burial on Boot Hill. Matt had grinned ruefully at their suggestion while Chester listened with his usual interest in his friends' conversation, though not quite following it. "An investigator hired special by Attorney General Devens himself, dumped in Boot Hill dirt by the man he was sent to observe," Matt had said.

"I played a court card, Miss Kitty. You got a penalty." Chester's soft-spoken drawl broke Kitty's musings.

"Hmm? Oh," she said. She looked at his guileless face as she added four cards to the stack between them. He'd drawn an Ace. Glimmering with pleasure in the game and her playing it with him, Chester's round brown eyes met Kitty's exquisite blue ones, and she gave him a little smile before her thoughts returned to the incident with Nash the day before.

Walking Front Street with Chester, Kitty knew Nash would bother her soon as she saw him. "I've seen dogs around this town with better manners than that man," she had said.

"Don't you worry none, Miss Kitty," Chester said in a low tone. "If he tries ta give you a hard time, ah'll kill 'im. An' Mr. Dillon'll spit on 'is carcass when he's dead."

"You know Matt would never spit on a body, Chester," Kitty reproved. "Alive or dead."

"Yessum, reckon he would not," Chester murmured. He spoke through clenched teeth, so Kitty knew he was mad. "Mr. Dillon _will _kill him though, he don't leave you be."

"Don't start anything with him, Chester. Let me handle it."

"I ain't gonna stand by 'n let 'im put his nasty hands on you, Miss Kitty."

Nash reached them and halted close in front of Kitty. "Kitty Russell," he said, leering.

Kitty's heart started knocking and she felt suddenly breathless, which made her want to grab Nash's head by its coiffed fair waves and bang it into the brick wall of the gun shop next to them. "Get out of my way," she said.

"Just being friendly," said Nash. "Strumpet."

"Don't you know to tip your hat when you see a lady?" Chester bit out, his voice quiet. He snatched Nash's fine black hat from his head and flung it in the street.

"_Chester," _said Kitty.

Nash swung at Chester. The investigator was the bigger man, about two inches shorter yet some thirty pounds heavier, and Chester went down. _"You filthy brute!" _Kitty screamed at Nash, rage flaring hot from her core while her heart pounded. She would kill him, rip him in pieces barehanded.

Nash raised his hand to slap Kitty, which in turn kindled a wrath in Chester further fueled by Kitty's ire. Nash's palm never touched Kitty's face. Chester sprang from the boardwalk and pounced on Nash like a wildcat, and both of them fell in the street. Chester sat on Nash's belly and lifted a fist to punch him. Nash struck Chester's jaw again, planted a shiny boot in his chest and pushed him in the dirt. The investigator scrambled to his feet, backed away and faced off in the gunfighter's stance.

"_He has no gun, Nash," _Kitty gasped as Chester rose from the dirt with an effort.

"I will kill you without a gun," he said to Nash. Chester swayed slightly, his head thrust forward and his darkened eyes burning with a ferocity he couldn't rein in. Kitty knew he couldn't; knew it as a feeling of real pain wrenching her stomach and throbbing through her chest.

Bafflement mixed with her fear for Chester, as she did not at first understand his mindless rage. Yes, Nash wanted to take her by force, but if he had a lick of sense, he wouldn't try to drag her away in daylight on Front Street.

After the shooting, Matt confided to Kitty that the girls Nash assaulted told Chester about it in secret, then entreated him not to tell the marshal, the same way they'd pleaded with Kitty. "Poor gals, it must've relieved them a little to spill their guts on sympathetic ears like yours and Chester's," Matt said. "They had to suspect both of you would tell me. Maybe they didn't realize it themselves, but I think they wanted me to know what Nash did to them. They wanted him stopped."

Nash had no plans to stay more than a few weeks in Dodge. Matt intended to write a letter reporting him to the attorney general, including in the envelope signed statements from his victims, and mail the letter when Nash left town. "Headquarters will sack him and hit 'im with a big fine, and he might end up serving thirty days in jail at the least," Matt had said. "That way, no one in Dodge except me and you and Chester, and maybe Doc, will know your gals told on a man who gave them a hard time."

Ruminating over Nash's death, Kitty had scant doubt that had Matt known Nash hounded her too, the marshal would have thoroughly thrashed the man and run him out of Dodge, thus preventing the incident with Chester. Worried Nash would make trouble for the marshal with the attorney general's office if Matt fought the investigator, Kitty said nothing to Matt about it; and Nash held his harassment of her to crude teasing when Chester visited the Long Branch. That type of teasing was common among Kitty's patrons, forceful enough for Chester to nurture a seed of hatred for Nash and complain to the marshal, but not sufficiently threatening for Matt to intervene. He knew that sort of annoyance came with Kitty's job, and if he put a stop to it, he'd likely hurt business at the Long Branch. Not that Matt could accustom himself to the men pushing unwanted flirtations on Kitty, but he did restrain the urge to knock them down.

Kitty's thoughts returned to the moments before Matt shot the investigator dead on Front Street. "You mangy wolf," Chester had said to Nash. "You think you're smart, dontcha, sneakin' roun' preying on women. You ain't gittin' away with it, Nash. Them two Long Branch girls tole me ever bit what you done to 'em, and they wasn't the only two. They said you was rough on other girls up to the rooms. Well, you ain't hurtin' Miss Kitty cuz you are gonna _die right now_."

"No, Chester. He'll shoot you. You're not armed," said Kitty.

"Durn right I will shoot him if he comes any closer," Nash warned. "He's a simple lunatic, and there must be something wrong in Dillon's head too, keeping this man on as his assistant. There's no reasoning with a feeble-minded madman like you, Chester. Only way to stop you is to shoot you."

Chester rushed Nash, who drew his gun, leveled it at Chester and thumbed the hammer.

"_No," _Kitty screamed.

In the heartbeat before Nash squeezed the trigger, Matt pushed through the batwings of the new saloon across the street and stepped onto the walkway. In celebration of the barroom's opening day, the owner hung a sign by the door announcing three free beers and whiskies to any man who entered. Men packed the saloon like cattle at the stockyards when the trail herds came through Dodge, and the crowding frayed tempers which led to a brawl so boisterous that the marshal, struggling to restore order, failed to hear Kitty's and Chester's voices raised in distress.

Matt saw Nash pointing his gun at Chester charging at the investigator in the street, and Kitty standing on the walk. There was no time to chance shouting at Nash to hold it. Although a yell from the marshal would stop Chester, Nash might possibly go ahead and shoot, and Matt would not trust Chester's life to possibles.

Matt drew and shot Nash, too swiftly to take care what part of the man's body he aimed at. The bullet ripped into the side of Nash's neck, severed his carotid artery and lodged in his throat.

"You're tired playin' cards now maybe, Miss Kitty." Chester's voice once more brought Kitty back to now, in the jailhouse with Matt brooding nearly motionless at the desk, Doc still napping in a chair by the stove and rain pouring outside. "You keep driftin' off somewheres else," said Chester. "To yesterday, are you?"

Matt stirred and looked somberly at Chester. "Yesterday's over and done with, Chester," said Kitty. "Nash is dead, and you and I are safe."

"Safe as we kin be in Dodge, I 'spect," said Chester. "But I done somewhat wrong, maybe."

"You only protected me from that cur," said Kitty, "and he almost killed you for it. I'm not sorry he's dead. His death pleases me."

"Pleases me, too. Dead dog Nash," said Chester.

A snicker from Doc's chair let the others know he was awake and had heard Chester's words.

Matt's mouth twitched, but he checked the grin and held his severe look. He swung his legs off the desktop, tilted his chair upright and sat straight in it. "You did protect Kitty yesterday, Chester," said Matt. "I wish I could say you did a good job and leave it at that."

"Then why don't you," said Doc.

"Because he lost his head out there, too, Doc," Matt said, "and Nash, who the attorney general hired to investigate how I do the job, is dead by my hand on account of it. More important, Chester almost lost his life.

"You were unarmed and you ran at a man holding a gun on you who warned you to back off, Chester," said Matt.


	2. Chapter 2

Doc rose abruptly from his chair, put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window at sheets of rain sluicing down on a whistling wind. "Rain's comin' down harder than ever. Last thing I wanna do is spend the night trapped in here, by thunder. Six folks with pneumonia need tending, and more with bad colds I'm keeping a close eye on."

"I woulda drew on Nash iffen I was armed at the time, Mr. Dillon," Chester patiently explained. "I dun wear a gun, usual. I kin start packin' one if you want." Doc turned from the window and gave Matt a pointed look.

Kitty reached across the table strewn with cards from their game and patted Chester's hand. "Matt," she said.

Matt was silent a moment. "Alright, Chester. I don't want you to strap on a gun."

"I should say not," Doc said distractedly, turning to the window again. "Chester would only get in trouble, wearing a gun."

Chester sighed and scrubbed his hand through his fine soft hair, standing it on end. "Wahl, I'm turrible tuckered of a sudden." He yawned and glanced at his bed. "Wanna lay down a spell only I'm gittin' hungry. Near on dinnertime. Delmonico's likely closed 'til the rain stops."

"What've you got to eat here," said Doc.

"Scrapple. Mixed up a big batch fresh this mornin', Mr. Dillon an' me ate some of it. Got plenty wrapped ain't cooked yet I kin fry up," said Chester.

"It's good. Scrapple's one dish Chester knows how to make," said Matt.

"Nothin' like a plate of hot scrapple on a cold rainy night," said Doc.

The rain let up a little by nightfall and the wind died down, though not enough for Doc to escort Kitty to the Long Branch and go home to his rooms, or for Matt to head to his place at Ma Smalley's. The first to lie down to sleep, Chester spread his bedroll on the floor in the near jail cell. Matt would sleep on the bunk in the same cell, Doc on the bunk in the other cell, and Kitty would take Chester's bed in the office.

Chester was soon asleep, and Matt, Doc and Kitty sat at the table with cups of coffee. "I think you did right not to scold Chester about Nash any more than you did, Matt," said Kitty. "He wouldn't have understood. As it is, he's confused by you and Doc watching him the way you've been doing."

"He is. Well then, I can't speak for Matt, but I'll just quit watching him . . . and act with him like usual. Chester loses his head now and then, when it comes to protecting Kitty particular," said Doc. "Not much you can do to change who a body is; you can only tend to him. Look out for him, that sort of thing."

Matt looked at his cooling coffee, toying with the cup. "Times I can't help but wonder, if he puts himself in danger deliberately."

"If he does, I don't know what we can do about it except patch him up and try to keep him out of harm's way," said Doc.

"We already do that," said Kitty. "When Chester gets boiling mad, he's not afraid. At all. And when he feels no fear, he thinks he can do anything. Like take down an armed man without a gun."

"I think you're right, Kitty, by gum," said Doc.

"It's not explained that easily," Matt argued. "He has the sense to know he might die in that situation."

"So, what do you intend to do about it, Matt," said Doc.

Matt hesitated. "Nothing, I guess. Except look out for him, and the three of us are already doin' that, like Kitty said." The rain stopped sometime after midnight, and by then the three friends had gone to bed in the jailhouse.

_M_**************************************************************************

Some six weeks after Matt mailed a full report on the Nash affair to Washington, he received a letter from the lawyer to Attorney General Charles Devens' secretary. The first trail herds would invade Dodge with the start of planting season in a few days, and anticipation charged the air. Matt sat at the desk leafing through the _Wanted _circulars. He was memorizing the names and likenesses again at the tail end of a stormy winter, as the outlaws had sheltered in their hideaways since yuletide.

Matt heard his friend's halting steps on the boardwalk outside, and did not glance up from his study of the posters as Chester came in. "Letter from the attorney general's office come, Mr. Dillon." He carefully placed the official envelope atop the pile of circulars. "I surely hope you're not in trouble on account of havin' ta shoot Nash to save ma life."

"Don't worry," said Matt, taking a letter opener out of the desk drawer. "The most they can do is sack me, and Kitty and I can take a trip to San Francisco or somewhere and celebrate."

"Gracious, that'd be terrible," Chester said solemnly. "An' all my fault, too."

"Stop blaming yourself, Chester," said Matt, pulling a creamy sheet of linen-weave paper from the envelope. "You did what you thought you had to do to protect Kitty."

"Yeah, I did. I done too much, onliest thing, an' it ain't the first time neither. Ain't sorry Nash is dead, though."

"Neither am I, so quit worrying," said Matt, unfolding the letter. He looked up from his chair as Chester hovered over the desk. "It was the day after I shot Nash when I said . . . what I said to you, Chester. Looking back now after thinking on it a long spell, I see what happened in a clearer light. I am not blaming you, so stop blaming yourself," Matt repeated.

"What's in the letter, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt read the letter, then met Chester's eyes again. "Pour us some coffee, will you?" said the marshal. "We'll talk about it at the table."

"Yes, sir." Chester moved to the steaming pot on the stove. "They gonna dismiss you?" he said unsteadily.

"No," said Matt.

Chester drooped in relief. "I was powerful scared they was," he said. Holding two cups of coffee, he limped to the table.

"The attorney general's secretary didn't read my report," said Matt. "Nor Mr. Devens himself. The secretary's lawyer read it, he counseled the secretary what to do about it and the secretary counseled Devens." Matt gave the letter a disgusted wave and tossed it on the table. "The lawyer tells me all that in the letter. He's truthful about it, anyway."

Chester watched Matt, clearly not understanding his description of the tangled communications of government bureaucrats. Given Chester's inquisitive nature, Matt figured it best to tell him what was in the letter rather than let him wait until the marshal went out and sneak the letter from the drawer where they filed official documents.

Matt looked into Chester's honest, soulful eyes and carefully chose his words, speaking slowly so his assistant would follow his drift. "Since I shot Nash to stop him from shooting you, the attorney general's office thinks it best that you not work for me, on account of you threatened to kill Nash when you were protecting Kitty, and he warned you he'd shoot if you didn't back off. Headquarters is ordering me to let you go, Chester." Chester swallowed hard and flinched, looking like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I shouldn't have stated in the report that my assistant fought Nash. I thought at the time it would give my account a more credible tone." Matt picked up his coffee cup and thumped it down. "At least I didn't mention your name."

The marshal rested his arms on the table, leaning close to his friend. "I am not obeying the order, Chester."

Concern for Matt quickly pierced the numbing haze of Chester's shock. "But you have to, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "Mr. Devens hisself give that order. You'll git in big trouble if you keep me on."

"Chester, I'll never turn you out." As Matt spoke, an invigorating warmth rushed through Chester, dispelling the creeping chill that had gripped him a moment before. His brown eyes shimmered and Matt's face blurred.

Chester blinked his eyes dry. This was no time for tears. He had somewhat important he must do, and straightaway. He scraped back his chair and resolutely stood up.

"Where're you going?" said Matt. "We're still talkin'."

"I'm leavin' Dodge." Chester rummaged beneath the bed, pulling out his bedroll and the worn knapsack containing his few possessions.

"You want to leave, do you?" Matt asked.

"I got no choice, Mr. Dillon."

"Sit down," the marshal said, and Chester obeyed. "No one in Washington knows who you are. They don't even know your name," said Matt, "and this letter says they won't send anyone else to Dodge to investigate how I do the job. Seeing the breed Nash was, I figure headquarters will keep this whole thing quiet. They won't want it publicized that the investigator they hired preyed on women and tried to shoot a U.S. marshal's assistant. They will never know I am keeping you on, Chester, and believe me, they won't ask."

Chester gazed vaguely around the office. "Then I'll stay, maybe."

"I want you to stay," said Matt. "I need your help with the cattle drives comin' in soon."

"I make trouble for you," Chester mumbled. "I don't mean to but I do. You coulda lost your badge on account of me."

"_Chester . . . ." _Matt sighed. "I can't hold with you risking your life when it's not needful, but you did a good job defending Kitty from Nash, and I hate shooting any man but I agree with Kitty about him. I'm not sorry he's dead."

Any little praise from the marshal was normally sufficient to mollify Chester when his lack of sureness lowered his spirits, but this time Matt's encouragement failed to lift the gloom that had descended on Chester and shadowed him since the shooting. He acknowledged Matt's compliment with a nod, rose and returned his belongings to their place under the bed and put on his coat. Matt noticed his friend pocketed the wallet in which he hoarded his meager savings, as well as a book of Mr. Poe's stories and poems left behind in the rear cell by a condemned man last spring.

"You goin' for a beer?" said Matt.

"No, sir. My leg bones hurt like usual after a big rainfall. Here an' here too." Chester patted his hip and lower back. "I'll buy some medicine for it, maybe."

"Headed to Doc's then?" said Matt.

"Doc always gives me misery when I ask 'im a medicinal for my leg," Chester woefully replied, putting on his hat. "He says I'll want it like a drunk cravin' whiskey if I take laudanum ever time ma leg gits to hurtin'. 'Sides, I need somewhat stronger than laudanum. A drum's beatin' through my leg an' my back's a knot. I'll mix up my own restorative."

"Mix it up with what, Chester? And where do you aim to buy it if not from Doc?"

Chester shrugged. "Figger ah'll find some places." He went out, and the marshal watched as he limped slowly past the windows. Matt considered following him and decided against it, knowing that if he did, Chester would rile into a state where there was no reasoning with him.

Frazzled from stocking his shelves with shipments for the upcoming spring season, Jonas looked up from his inventory list and felt pricks of annoyance stab his temples as Chester came in the store. Chester's grim expression meant botherment, which Jonas had no patience with at the best of times.

"Chester," said Jonas.

"Jonas." Chester put his hands on the counter and was quiet a moment, looking at Jonas.

"What is it? Something happen?" said Jonas.

"I want morphine four packets," said Chester.

"Alright. Just let me take a look at Doc's prescription and I'll fetch it for you."

"Ain't got no perscription. I'm buyin' it of my own," said Chester.

"Now Chester, you know I don't sell morphine without a prescription from Doc," said Jonas.

"Oh forevermore," Chester snapped. "I'll jest buy it from that shop on the back street then. The one what sells long pipes an' burners 'n sech."

"Chester . . . ." Jonas lowered his voice, his eyes glinting suspiciously behind his spectacles. "What d'you need with morphine that Doc won't give to you. Does the marshal know about this?"

"Gracious, Jonas, I'm a growed-up man. Some things I don't tell Mr. Dillon 'bout." Chester stamped out.

Frowning, Jonas tapped his pencil on the inventory tablet. He had heard about Dillon shooting the attorney general's investigator dead to save Chester's life; and as he considered himself an astute man, Jonas had drawn his own conclusions on the incident as he was wont to do. Though Jonas had never known Chester to do harm to himself with narcotics, with his tender head, a body couldn't tell what he might do when distressed. It was Jonas's duty to relate Chester's visit to his store to the marshal, and the sooner the better.


	3. Chapter 3

Chester stuffed the bag containing four morphine packets in his coat pocket next to his wallet. Unlike Jonas, the proprietor of the back street shop eagerly sold Chester the morphine, did not mention a prescription, asked him if he wanted an opium kit and invited him back soon.

With the thaw that heralded planting season and the cattle drives still some days down the road, the cold kept the townsfolk indoors around their stoves and fireplaces, and except for Kitty and Sam, the Long Branch was empty when Chester pushed through the batwings. "Howdy, Miss Kitty," said Chester, tipping his hat. "Sam."

Kitty and Sam returned Chester's greeting. "What'll it be, Chester," said Sam. "Beer?"

"I'll have a whiskey bottle, Sam," said Chester.

As Sam took a bottle from the shelves behind the bar, Kitty's striking blue eyes lit on Chester's bulging coat pockets. Especially in regards to her friends, those eyes missed little. "You been shopping?" she said.

"Shopping?" Chester echoed blankly.

"What's in the bag?" said Kitty.

"Morphine for my leg hurtin'."

"Doc doesn't usually give you morphine for that. He says rubs and hot baths," said Kitty.

"Dint git it from Doc," said Chester.

"Oh? Where'd you get it?" said Kitty.

"Shop on the back street. Feller what sells spirit lamps 'n paste an' sech." It did not occur to Chester to lie to Kitty or conceal what he did from her, any more than he would with the marshal or Doc.

Sam thumped a bottle on the bar. "One dollar, forty cent," he said.

Kitty picked up the bottle and set it in front of her, her slim fingers wrapped around the neck. "Chester, you take that morphine and drink this, it'll make you sick. Why don't you go see Doc, ask him for some laudanum. He'll give it to you if your leg pains you too much."

Chester sighed. "Don't worry none 'bout me, Miss Kitty. I'll be alright." He turned and headed for the batwings.

"Where are you going?" said Kitty.

"I'll buy a bottle to the Lady Gay," said Chester.

The Long Branch remained empty, so Kitty asked Sam to pour coffee for the two of them and sit and chat with her awhile. They worried about Chester, talked of Nash and the shooting, and hoped his death would not mean trouble for the marshal.

When Kitty checked her pendant watch a short time later, or so she thought, an hour had passed and Matt showed up, looking as anxious as Kitty felt. Sam rose to return to the bar, and the marshal declined his offer of a beer. Matt sat in the chair next to Kitty's. "Chester come in today, Kitty?" said Matt.

"He left here an hour ago. Matt, what's goin' on with him? He had a bag of morphine in his pocket he bought on the back street, and he wanted to buy a whiskey bottle."

"Did you sell it to him?" Matt asked.

"No. I told him if he drank whiskey and took morphine together, it'd make him sick, so he said he'd buy a bottle at the Lady Gay."

"Jonas said Chester came to his place looking to buy morphine, and he wouldn't sell on account of Chester didn't have a prescription from Doc," said Matt.

"He said he bought it from a place on the back street," said Kitty.

"That's what he told Jonas he was gonna do," said Matt.

"Matt, I'm awful worried. Chester wouldn't purposefully try to hurt himself, would he?"

"Well, I never heard him talk like he would, Kitty. But he can be reckless when he loses his head."

"Like he did with Nash," said Kitty. Matt told her about the letter from the attorney general's office, and his decision to ignore the order to dismiss Chester.

"You made the right decision," said Kitty, her eyes sparking anger. "Rotten idiot lawyer. He read your report on what that slimy pig of an investigator did. He needed killin'. He won't attack any more women. He almost killed Chester, too! If you hadn't shot Nash, Matt, I would've done it myself."

Matt grinned. "I'm proud of Chester for fighting Nash to protect you, Kitty, but now I'm thinkin' you could've handled that dreg yourself."

"You bet I could," Kitty said. "Mr. Devens needs to take a good look at those swine he hired. Just let any more of 'em come around here making trouble for you and Chester."

Matt chuckled. "You know when you've had enough of the Long Branch, you have a standing offer to pin on a deputy's badge, Kitty."

"With the trouble you and Chester get into, I just might. You best go find him, Matt."

"I'm thinkin' on where he went. He took all his money with him, about thirty dollars including his Christmas money from you," said Matt. "And he had a book with him. I figure he'd want a comfortable bed if he takes the morphine and whiskey. Maybe at Dodge House."

"Oh, Matt."

"Don't think the worst yet, Kitty. He likely won't take all of it, just sufficient to ease the pain in his back and leg."

Matt went to Doc's and the two of them headed for Dodge House. "Matt," said Doc as they walked. "If Chester's conscious when we find him, better not ask him if he wanted to do himself harm. Don't say anything of the kind."

"Alright. You think he's out to hurt himself, Doc, even if he doesn't realize it? After what happened with Nash and all that?"

"I don't know," said Doc. "I'm no psychiatrist, but I do know Chester. He's not feeble-minded and he's not complicated, either. If you tell him to forget Nash, the shooting and the attorney general's office, I think he will. Or he'll put it all behind him at the least. That's the best we can do to my way of thinking. You can't change a man's nature, Matt. You can just try your durndest to save him from himself and patch him up when you fall short."

Doc lowered his head and shook it, frowning at the boards beneath his boots.

"What is it, Doc?" said Matt.

"Sometimes it's too late to patch up a friend," said Doc. "Confound these jackass government officials and their meddling. They think they know more than anyone, when all they do is strut around like roosters and run their mouths all day. If they hadn't sent Nash to evaluate you, Matt, Chester wouldn't have fought him to defend Kitty's honor, and you'd not been forced to shoot him. I hope his death is a lesson to them not to send another meddler to this town."

Chester was at Dodge House. The desk clerk told the marshal and Doc his room number, and when Matt knocked, there was no answer and the door was locked. _"Chester," _Matt called, and hammered on the door.

"Stand back, Doc. I'm kicking it open," Matt said. Doc backed away and Matt kicked the door with the sole of his boot, breaking the lock. Chester lay on his side in bed, the covers pulled to his chin in the way he normally slept. Except he clearly had not heard Matt's raised voice and pounding, nor his kicking the door open, and he didn't stir as the marshal and Doc entered the room. Four empty morphine packets littered the bedside table, strewn around a bottle half-filled with whiskey and a cup, and the book by Mr. Poe.

Doc pulled aside the bedding, took hold of Chester's shoulder and turned him on his back. He wore his undershirt and pants; his suspenders, shirt and socks were tossed on a chair and his boots were on the floor.

"Is he alive, Doc?" said Matt.

"Yes." Doc knew before examining Chester that he was alive. Doc recognized on sight the signs of death even in the recently deceased. Death had a heavy, vacant stillness that he sensed the moment he walked in a room, a feeling that the person whose body he saw was not there. Chester's face, brown in summer and now light-tan in winter, showed its usual color, though flushed from drinking. The blood hadn't drained from his face, which did not have the expressionless look of the dead, and his shoulder was warm and pliable under Doc's hand.

Doc listened to his heart and peeled back his eyelids. "His heartbeat's a little slow, breathing a little shallow," said Doc. "He'll be unconscious a few more hours, then sleep deeply awhile longer; wake up sometime after midnight or thereabouts. I'll give him a tonic, water and coffee and something to eat, and he'll be fine." Doc rearranged the bedclothes over Chester. "I'll stay with him, long as he's here. I can nap on the other bed there.

"You know, Matt, this may just be the best thing for Chester."

"How's that, Doc."

"There's a procedure they do sometimes in the hospitals, with patients undergoing bodily and mental distress. The doctors chloroform them, days at a time in some cases. The patients wake up in a much sounder state than when they went under. Now Chester had pain in his leg and back, and the business with that blamed no-count investigator was plaguing him, too. He don't have the acumen to think it through, so he must've known natural like what it was he needed to make him better. When he wakens, my guess is he'll recollect what happened with Nash like a dream with no substance or effect," said Doc.

_C__*************************************************************************_

Leaving the lamp lighted, Doc lay down about ten o'clock that night and soon fell asleep. Then he was walking on the prairie to pay a sick call at a farm, though he couldn't remember whose farm it was or what the person suffered from. The sun was up and shone brightly, the air still cold in the last days of winter.

Chester's voice drifted faintly on the crisp breeze to Doc's ears. "Mr. Dillon?" said Chester. "Mr. Dillon?"

Doc stood still and looked around in puzzlement. Chester sounded like he was close by, but Doc didn't see him anywhere. "Doc?" said Chester, his voice stronger now. "That you?" Doc woke and looked at Chester lying on the other bed, blinking groggily at him.

"Chester." Doc sat up and scrubbed his scalp with his fingertips. "How d'you feel?"

"Fine. Jest my mouth gone cottony an' I cain't stir maself much."

Doc looked at his watch. Nearly two-thirty in the morning. "I'll get you some water," said Doc.

Chester sat up in bed as Doc filled a cup from the pitcher. "You, uh, forget anything that happened before you fell asleep?" said Doc.

Chester gulped the water, draining the cup, and Doc refilled it. "I recollect everthin', Doc. Is it mornin' yet? Ah'm powerful hungry."

"I put a plate of roast chicken and johnnycake from supper in the armoire. I'll fetch it," said Doc. "How's your leg and back."

"Don't hurt no more. Reckon you 'n Mr. Dillon come lookin' for me here."

"We found you," said Doc, handing Chester the plate. "Didn't take long."

"Warn't aimin' to make no trouble," said Chester around a mouthful of chicken. "Seems I cain't do nothin' of late without makin' Mr. Dillon trouble."

Doc sat on the other bed. "Well, Matt knows you were feeling poorly. He understands."

"Leastways that all 'bout Nash left off a deviling me." Chester took a big bite of johnnycake. "When I waked, the bad feelin' was gone. Dunno why it worried me so afore, Doc. Me an' Mr. Dillon together jest did what we had to when he shot Nash, to protect Miss Kitty an' the other women what works in the saloons here in town. Mr. Dillon said he ain't gonna obey the order from headquarters to sack me from the job, and they ain't sending no other investigator to Dodge ta hound 'im neither. They don't dare after what happened to Nash, by golly."

"You're durn right they don't," said Doc. "Nash got what was comin' to him and that's all there is to it."

Chester and Doc went back to sleep when Chester cleaned his plate, rose early the next morning and were preparing to leave the room when there was a knock on the door. Chester opened it, and Matt stood there and smiled at him. "Chester. You feeling better, are you?"

"Fine, Mr. Dillon." Chester stepped aside for Matt to come in. "Doc slept the night here to keep 'is eye on me. He give me a tonic bottle, too. We was jest ready to leave."

"How about we go by the Long Branch for Kitty and get some breakfast," said Matt. "She was so worried about you yesterday, she'll be up and dressed already."

"_Oh. _My goodness, Miss Kitty oughtn't trouble herself worryin' none 'bout me. We best hurry on over there so's she can see I'm alright," said Chester.

The half-filled bottle of whiskey still stood on the bedside table, and Doc picked the bottle up. "Chester sure mixed up a healing restorative," said Doc.

Chester sat in the chair to put on his boots. " 'Tain't nothin' but morphine 'n whiskey, Doc. Ole feller what raised me up after my pa died swore by it for whatever ails you. He never give me none of it, though, on account of I was a young'un. He had no book-learnin', but he was smart 'bout some things."

Doc gave Matt a meaningful look and inclined his head toward Chester. "Chester's old guardian knew what he was talking about," said Doc. "Sometimes it takes a strong narcotic and a long draught of rye to revive you, body _and _mind."

"It done me," Chester said easily.

"With all this talk of whiskey, I'm workin' up a thirst," said Matt. "Why don't we drink what's left in that bottle, soothe our bellies for breakfast."

"Why, that's just the thing, Matt," said Doc. "A morning libation."

"I'll collect the cups an' pour it out, Doc," said Chester.

"To the officials I report to stationed almost fourteen hundred miles away in the District of Columbia," said Matt. "Here's hoping they all stay there."

"To us doing as we durn well please," said Doc.

"To good friends," said Chester.

END


End file.
